


Beyond The Pain

by Adona



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 10:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2345726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adona/pseuds/Adona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post series -- regret, denial, recovery, love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond The Pain

Avon tore his eyes from his contemplation of Blake's shattered body at his feet. Looking up, he saw a squad of Federation guards moving in to surround him. There was no way out. Avon didn't care. There was nowhere to run, and nothing to run to. He was going to die. It was over, at last. Avon was relieved -- even glad. He spared a moment to regret the fact that he had never managed to kill Servalan. Then he banished the thought. This was no time for such reflections. Death was not a patient thing, and he didn't intend to keep it waiting. 

Slowly straddling the body of his dearest friend, Avon raised his gun. He smiled his most defiant smile, and fired. The sounds of gunfire filled the air around him. Pain tore through his spine. His legs crumpled beneath him. He was aware that he was beginning to fall, but peaceful blackness took over before he impacted with the precious corpse beneath him. 

* * *

Pain. That was his first awareness. It tugged at him, dragging him up from the restful depths of unconsciousness. Pain. He heard muffled voices, but could not make out any words. It seemed like ages before he was able to manage opening his eyes. Dizziness disoriented him. He fought to focus his vision on the light fixture above him. Pain. Where was he? He tried to speak, but his mouth and throat were so dry that he could manage only a breathy croak. Fortunately, it was enough. 

A face came into focus above him. He did not recognize it. It was a female with short blonde hair. She was wearing white. She propped him up and held a glass to his lips. He stubbornly ignored the stabbing pain that ripped through him at the movement, and gratefully swallowed the cool water. When the glass was empty, he looked again at the woman above him. "Where. . .?" he managed to get out.

"Don't worry. You're perfectly safe. You're at Blake's base."

Blake's base. Suddenly, it all came back to him. In a flash, he relived every moment since he set foot on Gauda Prime. Despair gripped him. Guilt, anger, grief, washed over him in a great wave. No. It was supposed to be over now. He had so wanted to die in those last moments, but death mocked him -- sought to torment him by denying him even that cold peace. How could he live with what he had caused, with what he had done? 

He could see Blake at his feet, ripped open and bloody. He could hear the gunfire -- see his friends fall in death. Anguish tore through him. He did not want to be alive. His eyes darted about desperately.

The woman lowered him to the bed again. Misinterpreting his panic, she prepared an injection. "This is for the pain. Don't try to move." She gave him the shot. His mental and emotional pain had so outweighed the considerable physical pain he was feeling that he hardly noticed. He knew he couldn't move, let alone walk. He sank back into the bed and closed his eyes. He'd have to wait.

* * *

He drifted back to awareness again some time later. He felt disconnected from his body, somehow, and couldn't manage to open his eyes. He was disoriented, and couldn't be certain if he was awake or dreaming. Voices floated into his consciousness. Impossible voices. 

". . . for a while, but she said he seemed pretty out of it," the man was saying. 

"At least it looks like he's probably going to all right, which is more than we know about Tarrant or Blake. Is there any word on them yet?" the woman answered with concern.

"Yes, I talked to Dr. Kochevar this morning. Tarrant is still in critical condition, but his vital signs are a bit stronger today. Blake could still go either way. He doesn't seem to be fighting anymore. I'm hoping Avon recovers fast -- if anyone can get through to Blake, he can."

Avon decided that this dream was another of fate's cruel little jokes at his expense. He fought to numb the powerful emotional reaction that surged through him at the sound of these precious ghost voices, and to their sweet awful words. 

"Do you think that's still true, after what happened? I mean, even though it was all a big misunderstanding, Avon did almost kill the man. I'd find that difficult to forgive."

"You don't know Blake, Dayna. Once he knows the whole story, he'll understand. He and Avon need each other -- now more than ever. Avon can save Blake's life, and Blake can save Avon's sanity."

"I sure hope you're right, Vila. If Avon doesn't come 'round soon, it's going to be too late for both of them."

Avon's muddled mind wondered vaguely if, perhaps, he weren't dead after all. He couldn't imagine a worse hell than this. A third spectral voice joined the first two.

"Any change?" Soolin sounded uncharacteristically worried.

"He was conscious for a few minutes this morning," Dayna replied. "We're going to take turns sitting with him, so that one of us will be here the next time."

"Good idea. When is my shift?"

"How about four hours from now? I'll stay til then," Vila replied.

"All right. I'll be back in four hours."

"I'll come with you, Soolin. I need to lie down for a while. See you later, Vila."

There was silence for a few moments. Avon was glad that the voices had stopped. It wasn't fair. He should be able to find some peace in death or insanity -- whichever currently held him. He fervently hoped it was insanity, because then it would stop eventually -- he could make it stop. If it was death, it would never end.

"Avon," the disembodied Vila spoke once more. "I know you can't hear me, but there are some things I need to say." There was a pause. "These last few weeks, things have  
been. . .strained between us. Ever since Malodaar. You hurt me, Avon." he accused. "I had sworn never to forgive you. I may have even hated you for a while." 

There was another silence. Avon wished he knew how to make the voice stop. He tried to move, tried to even open his eyes, tried to scream, but he couldn't. He was helpless. All he could do was listen.

"I don't hate you anymore. I'm not saying that I understand, because I don't. I trusted you, Avon. You were my friend. I would never have thought you were capable of killing me. But you were. I suppose I really should hate you for that. But, seeing you lying here like this for the past eight days has made me realize that I still . . .care about you. You've always said I was an idiot -- I guess you were right." 

Avon's desperation grew -- he couldn't listen to this. //You are DEAD, damn you!// his mind screamed. //I didn't kill you at Malodaar, but I did kill you on Gauda Prime. You are dead!//

"Don't die, Avon. Please. I want us to work this out. I want to be able to forgive you. I can't do that unless you come back." 

Vila's voice was growing upset. Avon thought he almost heard a sob in it. It was beyond enduring. And now that the tormenting voice lapsed to silence, Avon unreasonably felt abandoned and alone. He didn't know which was worse. 

After a moment Avon heard a sigh. "I need a drink. I'll be back in a minute, Avon."

And now he really was alone. He summoned all of his considerable will power, and concentrated on opening his eyes. Somehow, he managed it. The same light fixture came into view above him. As his vision cleared, he slowly lifted his head to look around him, ignoring the searing pain even that movement caused. 

His eyes lit on a tray of instruments on a cart about five feet from his bed. //Yes,// he thought. Somehow he pushed himself up to a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the agony ripping through his body. He had to succeed. Sheer willpower moved his legs slowly over the side of the bed. 

He paused, resting for just a moment, his breath coming in short painful gasps. Blackness began to close around his field of vision, but he refused it, his desperation giving him strength. He lurched from the bed, taking three falling steps, and caught himself on the cart. After sucking in a few more breaths, he focused his eyes on the instruments. 

The fingers of his right hand closed around a cold steel scalpel, and with a sigh of gratitude, drew it across his opposite wrist, cutting deeply. He didn't even notice this new pain adding itself to his already existing agony. He took the scalpel in his now bloodied left hand, and dragged it across his right wrist. Relief flooded him as he sank to the floor, giving in to his exhaustion at last. The blackness was beginning to return.

"Avon! Oh, my God! Doctor!" Vila's voice receded with the pain, as Avon surrendered to blissful unconsciousness. 

* * *

It began as vague, uneasy sensations. There was a distant throbbing reality beckoning to him -- pulling together the scattered fragments of his mind and dragging him up toward dim awareness. Even in his current state, Avon fought to turn away from the insistent tugging, but its siren call proved to be irresistible, and he finally relented. 

His eyes opened, and that light once again appeared above him. For several minutes, he just stared blankly. He determinedly clung to his numbness, and was only marginally aware of what he was looking at. 

"Avon! You're awake!" Dayna enthused, her face looming into his field of vision. "Thank God. We've all been so worried about you."

So. It was hell after all. He would never escape. These beloved ghosts would forever torment him. It was no less than he deserved, yet he didn't know how he would be able to cope. A single tear escaped the corner of his eye. 

Dayna looked startled. She sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on his chest. "It's all right, Avon. You're going to be fine." She halted, at a loss. His eyes reflected a wretchedness that stung her heart. At last she asked, "Can you talk? Can you tell me how to help? Please try, Avon." 

He squeezed his eyes shut, drew a ragged breath, and tried to shut out his awareness of her. He failed. Her touch seemed so real -- so tangible, that it had jerked him to full consciousness. Waves of physical pain wracked his abused body, but it only invaded the periphery of his awareness. His attention was fully upon the warm, trembling hand laid on his chest. A question began to play about his mind. No. Impossible. 

He opened his eyes and focused upon her. She looked a bit drawn, but it was undeniably Dayna. He swallowed in confusion. A faint glimmer of hope rose within him. He squelched it immediately. Hope was dangerous. He needed facts.

"Dayna?" he croaked.

"Yes, Avon," she answered anxiously. "I'm right here. Can I get you something -- water, a painkiller?"

He shook his head slightly, still staring at her. 

"Tell me how to help you."

"Can you. . .prove. . .that you're. . .real?" he managed to rasp at her.

Her eyes grew wide. She recovered quickly from her shock, though, and seriously thought about his question. "I don't know, Avon. What could I say or do that you couldn't convince yourself was your imagination?" She continued to look at him with concern. Quietly, she asked, "Do you want me to tell you what's happened since. . .you know?"

He nodded. She was right, it may not convince him, but, perhaps, it would be a beginning. He would have to be careful to maintain his objectivity -- not let himself wrongly believe what he so wanted to be true.

"All right. Well, we were all rescued, obviously. I don't remember much about it -- I was unconscious or semi-conscious during all of that, but apparently Blake's friends arrived right after you were shot. They dispatched the Fed troops, and got us out. We were all in bad shape, but especially you, Tarrant, and Blake. They got us off Gauda Prime to Blake's real base on Hagerian 3. Vila and Soolin recovered pretty quickly. They're almost as good as new now. I'm doing better, though I'm still rather weak, and get tired easily." She halted, deciding whether it was wise to go on.

Avon listened distantly. "Why are we alive at all?" he asked in a stiff monotone.

"We're not really sure. The pet theory at the moment is that Servalan didn't want a whole gang of martyrs. I don't know, Avon. Maybe we were just lucky."

He huffed slightly at that. //Yes,// he thought wryly, //'lucky' is my middle name.// "All right, go on."

"Well, Tarrant was already in bad shape from the crash. Then, getting shot. . . . We thought we were going to lose him for a while there. He hasn't regained consciousness yet, but his lifesigns are slowly getting stronger. I think he'll be all right in time." She paused again, taking a deep breath. "It's just Blake we're really worried about now."

Avon didn't react externally -- he maintained his cold reserve before Dayna's eyes. He didn't want her to know how his heart lurched within him at the mere mention of the man, how misery gripped him once again, how the meager hope he had held now began to die. Blake was dead. Avon had looked deeply into his lifeless eyes. He knew that Dayna wouldn't lie to him, so this couldn't be real. It was the only explanation.

"He had been hanging on by a thread, but he went into cardiac arrest yesterday right after you. . . . Anyway, they've put him into stasis now. He's not getting any better, but he's alive. Vila seems convinced that once you're well, you can help him. He says Blake has lost the will to live, and that only you can give that back to him." She didn't know what more to say. She studied Avon's impassive features. "You don't believe me, do you? You still think this is all some kind of dream."

Avon's only response was to turn away his eyes. 

A wicked gleam came suddenly into Dayna's eyes. "You know, Avon, I just might have a way to convince you, after all. Do you remember when we first met?" She leaned over and kissed him determinedly. 

He tried not to react, but, after a minute, he was unable to help himself. His imagination had never been this vivid, and he did so want this to be real. For several long minutes, they kissed each other deeply. 

She pulled back at last, grinning at him triumphantly, waiting for him to speak. After some time, he did.

"Do you think it wise to subject me to something like that in my condition? Or were you trying to kill me?"

Dayna laughed. This was the Avon she knew. "I figured your system just needed a good jolt. You do believe me now, don't you?"

"I think so," he answered. "It's just that. . .Blake. . . ."

Dayna grew serious again. "You were certain he was dead. I know. But, for some reason, Avon, you've been given another chance." She considered the wisdom of her next question for a moment, but, never one to look before leaping, she took the plunge. She laid her hand on his chest again, and, in her softest voice, asked, "Avon, why did you try to kill yourself yesterday?" 

He looked away again. After a long silence, Dayna began to think he wasn't going to answer her. When, at last, he did, his voice was little more than a whisper. "I wanted the pain to stop. You were all dead. I had no reason to go on. And I couldn't live with  
the. . . grief."

A lump came to Dayna's throat as she let this sink in. "Oh, Avon," was all she could manage to say.

They sat together in silence for a long time.

* * *

Vila stepped into Avon's hospital room to find Dayna sitting on his bed. Curiously, he moved closer to see if Avon was actually awake, surprised to find that he was. Avon's peripheral vision caught the movement in the room, and his eyes shifted to Vila. Avon swallowed hard, remembering the things Vila had said to him when he had thought him unconscious. 

Dayna looked up. "Vila. Is it that time already?"

" 'Fraid so."

"Well, he's awake now, and he's going to be fine. I don't think we need to put watches on him any longer."

"Glad to hear it. I never did like sitting around in hospitals -- all those sick people -- you never know what you'll catch."

Dayna smiled, shaking her head. "You never change, do you?"

"Why should I? I wouldn't want to tamper with perfection." He paused while she snickered. Avon just continued to stare. Vila met his gaze. "Look, Dayna, why don't you go get some rest. I'll stay with Avon for a while."

She looked uncertain, but then nodded, knowing that the two men had a lot to work out. She turned to Avon, "I'll stop by later to see how you're doing." Getting up, she headed to the door, but she paused next to Vila and pleaded softly, "Take it easy on him, Vila. He needs our support right now."

Vila nodded, but his eyes never left Avon's. 

Once Dayna was gone, Vila took a few steps closer to the bed. "So, how are you feeling?" he asked guardedly.

"I've been better," Avon replied stiffly.

Vila nodded. He took a seat in the chair near the bed. He had rehearsed countless conversations with Avon -- some were angry, some accusing, a very few were even understanding. In none of them, though, had he faced this pale man who was confined to a bed, obviously fighting to ignore the pain in his body; whose bandaged wrists were the evidence of his self-loathing; whose eyes, uncharacteristically accessible, reflected anxiety and, perhaps, even fear. Vila decided that this might not be the best time. He'd wait until Avon was more himself.

Avon was less willing to spare himself. "I heard what you said yesterday," he stated.

"I thought you were unconscious." Vila's eyes widened. "Oh, God, Avon, that's not why you -- Oh, no." He dropped his head into his hands. "I'm sorry, Avon. I'm so sorry."

"No, Vila. You have no reason to apologize to me. I had already decided to. . . die. I had wanted it on Gauda Prime. When I first woke up here, I was determined to try again. I don't want you to feel any guilt about that. Please Vila." Avon hesitated, trying to master his nerves. He was going to be as open as he knew how to be -- he owed Vila that much. "The thing is, I was certain that all of you were dead. I thought that your voices were just in my imagination. What you said . . .it was what I wanted to hear, Vila -- that you were willing to at least try to work things out between us. Hearing it, and believing that you were dead -- it was just too painful."

Vila had looked up at him as he spoke, and was now gazing in astonishment. Avon had never spoken to him like this before. He swallowed. Avon continued.

"You said you still cared about me. I don't really understand why you would, after everything that's happened, but if it's true, I do want to try to work things out. I . . . care about you, too."

"Thank you for saying that. We will work it out, Avon." Vila smiled. "It can wait until you're feeling better, though. All of this sentimental honesty can't be good for you -- you're not used to it. Why don't you take a painkiller or something? You look like hell."

"Thank you," Avon smiled, relaxing slightly. "Yes, perhaps I will take a painkiller now. I could use some sleep, and I don't think I could manage it without one."

"I'll get the doctor."

* * *

When Avon awoke the next day, Vila was there again -- or was it 'still?' He smiled at Avon, "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

Avon frowned. "How long?"

"Over twelve hours. Seems you needed it. "

"I imagine Blake is still in stasis. How's Tarrant -- any change?"

"His signs are still getting stronger. They've been expecting him to regain consciousness for awhile, and they don't know why he hasn't. They say he'll be fine, though."

Avon nodded. 

"How about you? You look better than you did yesterday."

"I do feel a bit stronger, and the pain seems to have receded somewhat. A babysitter is no longer necessary."

"Oh, we've dropped the shifts. I was just. . ." he looked down.

A hint of a smile crossed Avon's lips. "Thank you, Vila," he said seriously. After a moment, he proceeded. "I'm going to ask you to do something for me that you won't want to do."

"So what else is new?"

"I want to see Blake. I need your help. Can you find a wheelchair and get me down there?"

After only a brief hesitation, Vila agreed. "All right, but just remember that it was your idea." He headed out the door.

In minutes, he was back. He silently hoisted Avon from the bed and deposited him in the borrowed wheelchair. Avon gritted his teeth at the movement. The pain had not actually receded very much, but Avon was resolved. Careful that the coast was clear, Vila wheeled his friend down the long hall. 

They entered a large room fitted with half a dozen stasis chambers. Only one was occupied. Blake lay motionless, bandages hiding the damage to his otherwise bare torso. The anguish that raced through Avon might have made him vomit, had he eaten anything solid in last ten days. This was his fault. He knew that dwelling on his guilt wouldn't help anyone, and he fought to focus on the other emotion that surged within him -- relief. Profound relief. The man was, inexplicably, alive. For the first time, Avon really believed it. He leaned forward in his wheelchair, laying his hands and his forehead against the clear chamber. For some time, he didn't move, as he allowed his feelings to battle within him. His eyes were closed, and his chest was heaving with each breath. 

At last, he sat back. "Turn off the stasis field, Vila."

"No! That could kill him. They only just managed to stabilize him and get him into stasis. Please, Avon, don't."

"He's not getting any better in stasis. The doctors can't help him, or they would be doing it. What good is this doing him? Turn it off." His soft voice grew pleading, "I need to talk to him. Please, Vila."

Vila looked into Avon's eyes for a long moment. "All right, Avon. I agree." He moved to the control panel, flipped a few switches, and then pushed the button that caused the lid of the capsule to open. The only change visible in Blake was the very slight, uneven rise and fall of his chest. Vila stepped away, leaning against a wall by the door. He would stay, in case he needed to run for a doctor, but he wanted to give Avon as much privacy as possible.

Avon winced as he used his feet to scoot his chair closer to the head of the chamber, his hands too weak to push the wheels. He leaned forward and gently spoke directly into Blake's ear.

"Blake. I'm so. . .sorry. I should have known -- I should have trusted you. It is not possible for you to betray me. So much had happened since you left. I didn't know how to trust anymore. I. . ." he stopped. This was what he needed to say, but not what Blake needed to hear. It would wait. He hardened his voice a bit. "Listen to me, Blake. You are the most strong-willed, stubborn. . . individual I have ever known. Use those qualities for yourself, for a change. Hang on -- fight back. You must get well. There is much to work out between us, and if you run away from it by dying on me, I will never forgive you. Do you hear me?" 

Avon leaned back in the wheelchair. He sat and simply watched Blake for a very long time, hoping all the while that he was doing the right thing. After a time, he was gratified to note that Blake's chest now rose somewhat more pronouncedly. He smiled slightly to himself. He had known that the man wouldn't back down from a challenge -- especially one from Kerr Avon. 

"Vila, go get the doctor, will you? Blake should be moved into the intensive care unit."

When Vila left the room, Avon leaned forward again, this time reaching out a weak bandaged hand, and actually touching the arm of the unconscious man. "Fight, Blake. Fight with all your strength. I searched for you for two years. Don't leave me again. Please. You see, I've found that I need you."

He snatched his hand away as Vila and the doctor burst into the room.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? You could have killed him," the doctor roared at Avon, as she brushed past him to check Blake's vital signs.

Avon sat back smugly. "I don't think so. He's too obstinate to die." Though the doctor didn't respond, within moments it became clear that her findings were positive. She appeared to be rather perplexed. When Avon was satisfied, he said, "Vila, take me back to my room, will you?"

Vila grinned, and wheeled him out the door. "He is going to be all right, isn't he."

"I think so -- yes," he answered hopefully. "Vila, before you take me back, take me to Tarrant's room."

* * *

Tarrant lay in a bed surrounded by medical equipment. He was breathing deeply and regularly, and appeared to be merely in a sound sleep. 

Avon looked at him more tenderly than he would have had the man been awake. In spite of how irritating the younger man could be, Avon felt a uncharacteristic swell of older-brotherly affection for him. 

"So, our golden boy is still out, is he," Avon addressed him. "I really would have thought it would take more than a crash-landing and a little blaster hit to keep you down, Tarrant. Apparently, I over-estimated you. Too bad."

Realizing what Avon was up to, Vila grinned at him. "Yeah, well, he never was as tough as he wanted us all to believe. You know, Avon, I think we're finally seeing his true colors. No guts, that's what it is."

Avon smiled back at Vila conspiratorially.

Just then, Dayna and Soolin barreled into the room. "There you are!" Dayna declared. "What do you think you're doing out of bed, Avon? You scared us half to death!"

"Just visiting a friend. I didn't realize I was required to check in with you. Will you ever forgive me?" He spoke with sarcasm, but with warmth as well. 

Soolin smirked. "Well, you sound like your old self. Welcome back to the land of the living."

"Thank you."

Dayna was still a bit riled. "Vila, what were you thinking of -- wheeling him about in his condition?"

"Don't look at me. You know that there's no stopping Avon when his mind is made up."

A gravelly voice came from the bed. "Would you all kindly be quiet? Some people are trying to sleep."

They all gathered around his bed, smiling at their comrade. 

"Well, it's about time, Tarrant," Avon teased him. "We were beginning to think you'd never wake up."

"You didn't give me much choice -- you always were a noisy bunch."

Soolin brought him a drink, and then the five of them lapsed into their typical banter, each of them enjoying it very much. It felt normal. It felt good. When, at last, Tarrant seemed to be tiring out, the others left him to rest, and returned an equally weary Avon to his own room.

* * *

For some reason Avon could not fathom, Vila had forgiven him. They had spoken about Malodaar the day after Tarrant had come 'round, and Blake had been moved to intensive care. 

"Lots of people have tried to kill me," Vila had said bitterly. "In fact, I think I'm getting used to it. But I expect it of them -- they are not my friends. You are my friend. That's why it hurt so much, Avon. I felt betrayed, just the way you felt when you thought Blake had betrayed you."

"The only difference is, you weren't wrong. I did betray you, Vila. I betrayed your trust. If our places had been reversed, I would have killed you for doing that to me. I don't understand why you still want to be my friend?"

"I don't really understand it, either, but I am your friend, Avon. I know that if we were in the same situation now, you would handle it differently. I think that what happened hurt you as much as it did me."

Avon looked at the thief for a long moment. "You may be right about that," he admitted. "For what it's worth, Vila, I am sorry. And I would handle it differently now. Thank you for being so understanding." 

Vila smiled at him.

That was all. It was never mentioned between them again.

* * *

Over the next three days, many improvements were readily seen. Tarrant was feeling much stronger, and was getting out of bed for short walks. Dayna and Soolin were unabashedly doting on him, and he was enjoying it immensely. 

Though Avon spent time with all of them, he, himself, was doted upon exclusively by Vila. The thief had somehow made it known to the two women that Avon was his territory, and they had accepted the edict. Avon, himself, was astounded by the depth of caring he was receiving from the other man. Vila was attentive to Avon's every need, often anticipating them before Avon said a word. 

As Avon's pain slowly diminished, he was more and more restless in the confines of the hospital. His physical therapy was proceeding well, though too slowly for his liking. Walking was still excruciating, however, and Vila conscientiously wheeled him wherever he wished to go -- including several trips to visit Blake each day. Vila brought Avon luscious delicacies that were a welcome supplement to the bland hospital food -- Avon couldn't imagine where he had "acquired" them. To Avon's even greater surprise, Vila entertained him with jokes and sleight of hand, and even read to him each night -- something Avon was finding himself looking forward to as evening approached.

Avon had never experienced this kind of devotion, and, though he appeared to accept it as a matter of course, he was, in fact, rather profoundly moved by it. On those few occasions when Vila was out of the room, Avon found himself irrationally missing the little thief. He also found that insults did not spring to his tongue quite so readily anymore. 

Reflecting upon this turn of events, Avon realized that he was allowing himself to rely on someone -- become dependent on someone. He had always refused such attachments in the past. Now, he found that he could derive much pleasure from the closeness. Perhaps it was because Vila was someone he could trust beyond question -- after all, the man's loyalty could not be more stridently tested than it had been on that shuttle. And Vila had come back. Avon didn't remember being that secure with anyone before. It caused him to lower his defenses more than he was able to with anyone else. There was a kind of unspoken communication developing between them, the ability to read an expression or a glance, that bespoke their understanding of one another. He would never have imagined that Vila could come to mean this much to him.

It seemed that all the pieces of the puzzle of Avon's life were finally fitting together. Except one, of course. Blake. The rebel was very slowly getting stronger. The rather perplexed doctor was expecting him to regain consciousness within the next several days. Avon's feelings on that subject were decidedly mixed. Of course, he wanted the man to get well. Each time he visited him, Avon spoke to him -- sometimes tenderly, sometimes in challenge -- urging him to come back, to fight. And Blake was responding. There was a part of Avon, however, that was dreading the inevitable confrontation with his former leader. 

How could he explain how he'd felt in that fateful moment on Gauda Prime? He had, at long last, found this man whom he had chased across the galaxy for years, and that man had, he had thought, betrayed him. Betrayal was the one thing Kerr Avon could not handle -- he had always tried to keep people at a distance for precisely that reason. //I could not accept it, Blake. Not from you. Gods, I hope you can understand that.// Avon clearly recalled the startled look of disappointment in Blake's eyes as he pitched forward into his arms and sank to the floor, rasping out Avon's name with what both of them had thought was his dying breath. Avon hoped fervently that he wouldn't have to meet that look in those eyes ever again. 

Returning to his room from another visit with Blake, Avon leaned forward, dropping his head into his hands. Vila knelt down in front of the wheelchair. 

"It will be all right, Avon. He will forgive you."

Still startled at how well the other man read him, Avon looked up and met the gentle, concerned eyes. "Why should he, Vila? I tried to kill him. Why would he care enough about me to forgive me that?"

"I do."

Avon blinked. "Yes. You do. And I still don't understand why."

Vila gazed at him a moment. "You really don't know, do you? And you're supposed to be the smart one." Gingerly he reached out his hand and stroked Avon's cheek, smiling at the look of confusion he received. After only a brief hesitation, he leaned forward and gently pressed his mouth against Avon's. 

Avon gasped, but did not break the contact. He was so startled by the kiss that he didn't have time to analyze it. As the warm pressure increased, Avon found himself slowly responding, his breath coming faster. The kiss grew deeper, and a soft moan escaped his throat as his hands came up to Vila's shoulders.

After some time, Vila pulled back, a bit surprised at the response he had received. Their eyes met again. At length, Avon blinked and opened his mouth.

"How long have you felt this way, Vila? Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Vila smiled and shook his head. "I always expected that, if you knew, I'd wind up having a meaningful encounter with your fist. For a long time, it seemed like you only tolerated me, Avon." He paused. "For what it's worth, I have been attracted to you ever since the London. The other feelings grew over time."

Avon's gaze wandered to the floor, as he explored the implications of this revelation. Only when Vila began to fidget nervously did Avon realize that he had been lost in thought for some time. He cleared his throat and met the soft brown eyes once again.

With his gentlest voice, he said, "Vila, I don't know what kind of a lover I would be. I am not very good at caring for people. But, if you really want me, I will try."

Vila's eyes grew wide. He had wanted this for a very long time, but he had never even imagined that it might become reality. "Why? I mean, you've never seemed interested before. Why do you want to be with me now?"

"I. . . feel close to you." He closed his eyes. This was not easy for him. "I would like to make you happy, if I can."

"Oh, you can, believe me. But it has to make you happy, too, Avon." Vila looked down. "I always suspected that you fancied Blake."

Avon's eyes flew open. "Blake?" He was astounded. "No, Vila. He is very important to me, as you well know, but the feelings could never have extended to any kind of sexual attraction. I. . . need the two of you for very different reasons." He paused. "I can't even imagine having that kind of relationship with anyone -- but you."

Vila smiled in amazement as he met Avon's eyes once again. He could scarcely believe this was happening, and just stared dumbly at his friend. It became apparent to Avon that Vila was not going to initiate anything, even now. He reached out and stroked the thief's hair. Then he slid his still-feeble hand behind the other man's head, and slowly drew him closer until their mouths met once again. That was all the encouragement Vila needed. Passion that he had kept inside for many years was unleashed as the kiss grew more urgent. When at last they parted, both men were panting heavily. 

"Help me to the bed, Vila."

Vila complied, and assisted in undressing the computer tech. It was a slow process, for nearly any movement still caused Avon much pain. Vila was growing concerned. When Avon was naked and lying down, Vila sat on the edge of the bed.

"Are you sure you don't want to wait until you've fully recovered? I don't want to hurt you, Avon."

"I appreciate that, but, no, I don't want to wait. I am afraid, however, that I will not be as. . . active as I normally would be. I hope I don't disappoint you."

Vila smiled at that. "Don't worry. There'll be plenty of time to show me how virile you are. For now, let me do all the work." He stripped off his own clothes and stretched out on his side next to Avon. He tenderly caressed Avon's stomach and chest, savoring the very reality of it. He slowly explored every contour with his sensitive fingers, moving up to the neck and feeling the strong pulse there. He kissed that spot and then let his mouth wander to an ear. 

Vila was intoxicated by the warm responsive body beneath him. He took his time, using his hands and mouth to familiarize himself with sensitive areas, committing to memory the responses he elicited. Avon shuddered and moaned and arched against the thief. He made the only contribution he could, using his weakened, bandaged hands to stroke the back of the smaller man above him. 

Vila had aroused his partner to near frenzy before using his mouth to bring him to climax, bringing his own with his hand just moments later. They lay unmoving for a moment, recovering their breath, and then Vila moved up into Avon's arms and kissed him warmly. 

"Are you all right? I mean, there wasn't too much pain, was there?"

"No, not much. And it was worth it." Avon stroked the other man's hair. "Remind me to do that for you sometime."

"All right, I will," Vila grinned. 

* * *

Vila happily came to wakefulness in the warmth of Avon's arms. After their lovemaking, he had gotten up and locked the door, reproaching himself for not thinking to do it earlier, and he had crawled back into the narrow bed. They had held each other as they slept, and Vila could not remember a more wonderful night. As he awoke, he breathed deeply of the scent of his lover, and opened his eyes to watch the other man sleep.

In sleep, there was an unexpected look of innocence about Kerr Avon. The long lashes gracing his pale cheeks brought an affectionate smile to Vila's face. He let his fingers softly stroke Avon's cheek, and then traced his lips. 

Avon's eyes fluttered and opened, and Vila was rewarded with a small smile. "Good morning."

Vila bent and brushed his lips against Avon's. "It certainly is," he murmured.

Avon tightened his arms around the smaller man, and drew him into a deeper kiss. When their mouths parted, Avon continued to hold Vila close. "What were you doing just now, when I was asleep?"

"Just looking at you." He stroked the man's cheek again. "You're beautiful, you know."

"Vila -- "

"I know," he interrupted, "you don't want me to say things like that."

"No, it's all right. I rather like it, actually. In private. I was just going to say that. . .you have made me happy, Vila. I didn't really expect to feel this way ever again. Thank you."

Vila felt tears welling in his eyes, and he buried his face in Avon's neck. For a long time, they simply lay together, enjoying the intimacy and warmth. 

Eventually, there was a rattle at the door. The two men looked at one another, both regretting that this time was at an end. Whoever was in the hall knocked on the door. They knocked again, and, receiving no answer, hurried away. With a sigh, Vila climbed out of bed and began dressing. He was in no hurry -- when he locked a door, it stayed locked until he decided otherwise. However, as tempting as it was to hole up in here all day, he didn't want to disrupt hospital routine. As he finished dressing, Dayna's voice came from the hall. 

"Avon. Avon, let us in. The doctor says the door is jammed."

"One minute, Dayna," Avon called.

Vila got Avon dressed and into his wheelchair, and then he opened the door.

Dayna stomped into the room, glaring first at Vila and then at Avon. She was followed by the rather annoyed doctor, who silently began to examine her patient.

Avon gazed at Dayna, the picture of innocence. "Is something wrong?"

"What could be wrong? You've just scared me out of my wits, that's all."

"Scared you? Why?" Vila asked.

"It wasn't too many days ago that Avon tried to kill himself, Vila. To find his door jammed so that even the keys don't work -- well, what do you imagine the doctor's obvious conclusion was?"

"I am sorry, Dayna," Avon said seriously. "I didn't consider that. I did not mean to worry you, or the good doctor. I assure you both that suicide is now the furthest thing from my mind." He turned to face the blonde woman. "Dr. Kochevar, I believe it is time for my release from your fine medical center. I will continue to come in for physical therapy, but I wish to live in regular base quarters."

The doctor opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it. She had lost too many arguments with Avon in the course of his therapy sessions. "Very well. I'll make the arrangements. You can be released this afternoon. However, you will not miss a single physical therapy session, or I'll have you back here, under guard if necessary. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly."

Her examination completed, the doctor exited.

"Avon, do you think that's wise?" Vila asked. "You still aren't well."

"I require rather more privacy than this facility affords me," Avon stated resolutely. "I will still spend the bulk of my day here, between therapy and visiting Blake and Tarrant, but I believe that having private sleeping quarters will assist in my recovery as much as the therapy sessions do."

Vila grinned at him, as the implications of this statement became clear. 

"Actually, Tarrant is being released today, as well -- under much the same restrictions. He will come in for daily physical therapy sessions," Dayna announced. 

"Indeed? He's progressing rapidly."

"Yes. He is almost as stubborn as you are, Avon."

Avon smiled. "Dayna, you flatter me."

She smiled back, shaking her head. "I'll make arrangements for your private quarters, if you like. There are some unoccupied cabins near Soolin, Vila and me."

"That would be fine. Thank you, Dayna."

* * *

Late that afternoon, after the routine of therapy sessions and visits to his still unconscious former leader, Avon moved into his own quarters. Vila had managed to find several good bottles of wine, and had invited the rest of the Scorpio crew for a small celebration. 

When they were comfortably seated, glasses in hand, Tarrant reflected, "You know, this is really the first time since we've been together that there are no dangerous missions to plan, and no one chasing us."

"Are you getting bored yet, Tarrant?" Avon asked in humor.

The tall man grinned. "Not yet, no. Actually, I was just noticing that it feels quite good to just enjoy your company -- all of you. We never really took the time before."

"No, we didn't," Soolin agreed. "I don't think it was a very healthy environment for any of us. We'll have to be more intentional about that in the future."

Dayna raised her eyebrows, "Are you that anxious to get back into the fight?"

"Not anxious, precisely. Simply ready," the stunning blonde gunfighter replied. "I've started making inquiries about a ship. By the time our two heroes here are completely recovered, we should be in a position to make some choices."

Vila's response was predictable. "Well I, for one, don't mind it here. It wouldn't hurt us to stay around for a while. There's good food and good wine, and not much work to do. What could be better?"

The others all smiled at the thief indulgently. Dayna ignored his comment and answered Soolin, "Well, it looks as though we all intend to stay together. I'm glad. I was a little worried."

Avon answered her, uncharacteristically open. "We need each other. We are the only family we have. Once Blake is well and we know where we stand with him, we will decide what to do. Until then, I suggest we take Vila's advice and enjoy the base while we have the chance. Whether we stay with Blake or not, I suspect that dangerous missions are not terribly far in our future."

Vila held up his glass, "Here's to the present, then. And a very good bottle of wine."

* * *

The next morning, Vila was wandering rather aimlessly around the medical center. Avon was in one of his physical therapy sessions. Vila tried to be as supportive as he could, but he really couldn't help with the therapy, and watching Avon performing the painful series of movements was not easy for him. This day, he decided to absent himself. 

He found himself standing outside the door to Blake's room. Without having consciously decided to do so, he entered. As he approached the bed through the maze of monitoring equipment, Vila was startled to find the man's eyes open.

"Blake?"

"Vila," the large man answered weakly.

"You are awake. Hang on, I'll get the doctor."

"No. Wait Vila." Blake's voice was hoarse, and it took obvious effort to speak. "Tell me, how long?"

"You've been unconscious for sixteen days."

"Sixteen days." He let that sink in. "I suppose I should consider myself lucky to be alive at all," he commented bitterly.

"Blake, Avon never meant. . . ."

"Where is he?" Even as weak as his voice was, Vila could hear Blake's anger in it. 

"He's in physical therapy. Blake, let me get the doctor, please. Someone should look at you."

"Later. First, go get Avon."

"No, Blake. That's not a good idea. Please."

"Do it, Vila. I want to talk to him. Now."

Vila hesitated. "All right, but first I am going to tell you a few things."

"Vila. . ."

"No, Blake," he interrupted. "I can be just as stubborn as you. Besides, right now, there's not a lot you can do to stop me."

"All right, but then you will bring Avon here to me."

"Fine. I just want to be sure you understand what happened on Gauda Prime before you start accusing Avon of anything. It wasn't his fault, Blake. A lot has happened since you disappeared. Avon couldn't trust anyone anymore. You and your damned tests. Do you remember what you said to him when he asked you to explain? You said that you'd set it all up, that you were waiting for him. I understand now what you meant, but that's not what it sounded like at the time."

"He should have trusted me, Vila."

"He couldn't. Not anymore. It had been two years, Blake." He paused, trying to calm himself. Blake was very weak, and he was Vila's friend, too. The thief pulled a chair close to the bed. "Do you remember when we went to Albion and Avon met up with Del Grant? Do you remember how it hurt him to be reminded of Anna Grant, the love of his life? He believed that she had been tortured to death in Federation interrogation because of her association with him. A little over a year ago, Avon finally decided to track down the agent responsible for her death, who was named Bartolemew. Well, guess what? Bartolemew was Anna Grant. He had trusted her completely, but she was a Federation agent, and she had betrayed him. When he found her, she tried to shoot him. He killed her. She died in his arms. When the Federation arrived, Avon took off his teleport bracelet. He wanted to die. He changed his mind at the last minute, but, after that, he didn't let himself trust or care for any of us anymore. Then, on one of his many quests to find you, he wound up leading us into one of Servalan's traps. The Liberator was destroyed, and Cally was killed. I think that's when the insanity started."

Blake's eyes widened at that. "I'm sure it was difficult, Vila, but insanity? Somehow, I can't believe that. You're just making excuses for him."

"He tried to kill me, Blake. Just a few weeks before we came to Gauda Prime. He hunted me with a gun, calling my name. If you had heard his voice, you would know he was insane."

Blake was silent for a moment. "Why are you defending him then, if he tried to kill you?"

"He's changed since we've been here -- he's more like he was in the beginning. In some ways, he's even better than that. He's more open now. He and I have talked it out, and I have forgiven him."

"Well, perhaps you are a more forgiving man than I am. I'm having a difficult time having any compassion for him." But his voice was softer now, much of the anger knocked out of him.

"Gauda Prime was raided by the Feds minutes after you were shot. They desimated us. I was sure that that was it for all of us. But your people arrived and rescued us. We were all in pretty bad shape. When Avon woke up here, thinking we were all dead, he tried to kill himself, Blake. In spite of tremendous pain from his own injuries, he got himself out of bed and slashed his wrists. He nearly died. Once he came 'round again, and was convinced we were all alive, the first thing he did was visit you. He saved your life. You were in stasis, because they didn't know how to help you. Avon came to talk to you. From that point on, you started getting better. He visits you several times a day, even though it's difficult for him to see you like this. He talks to you. Do you remember any of that?"

"No." The rebel paused "Well, not really. I don't remember anything he said, but I think I have been aware of his presence."

"That is why you are alive. He talks to you. He tells you how he feels. He challenges you to come work this out with him. He's trying really hard, Blake. He wants you back in his life."

Blake sighed. "I want to believe you, Vila. You will forgive me if I'm still a bit skeptical."

"Let him explain, Blake. Listen to him."

"Yes. I do want to hear what he has been saying to me. Bring him in, but don't tell him I've regained consciousness. I will listen, and then I will talk to him. I have heard what you've been telling me, Vila, and I will try to be open-minded. That's the best I can do."

"All right. I guess that's all I can ask. His therapy session is almost over. We'd be coming here anyway. I'll go get him."

* * *

Avon watched the man in the bed for several minutes. Blake looked as he had for the past few days -- somewhat pale, but, more or less, the Blake Avon had known. As usual, Vila sat in a chair by the door, letting Avon speak privately to the rebel. Avon leaned forward and took Blake's hand in his. 

"Well, they tell me that you will be waking up soon. I told them you were too obstinate to die," Avon smiled wryly. "I find myself growing apprehensive, Blake. What am I going to say to you? If our roles were reversed, I do not think I would be particularly understanding." He laid his forehead on the edge of the bed, and sighed. "I hope you can understand, though. I don't want to have to be without you again. Do you know how much you mean to me? I searched for you for two years, Blake. I needed you. Maybe I am fooling myself, but I believe that if I had been with you, I would not have become the cold psychopath who finally did find you." There were several minutes of silence. When Avon spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. "How can I expect you to forgive me? It's different with Vila. He had seen what was happening to me. Even so, I find it difficult to believe that I didn't kill all of his feelings for me. Have I killed yours? I wish I could find words to tell you how important you are to me. I've missed you these past two years. If you knew how sorry -- " His voice caught, and Avon lapsed into silence once again.

The hand Avon was holding suddenly squeezed his tightly. Avon's head shot up to meet Blake's open eyes. "You. . .you're awake." He stared.

"Yes, Avon." He paused, looking deeply into troubled eyes. "And I heard what you said."

Avon swallowed and simply continued to stare at the man before him. 

"Avon, we have a lot to talk about, a lot to work out. I will listen, and I will try to understand. That is all I can promise you right now."

Avon nodded. He continued to clutch tightly the warm hand in his. He close his eyes, trying to beat down his warring emotions. Failing, he opened them to meet Blake's once again. In one quick move, he pulled himself from the wheelchair to the bed and bent down to hug the rebel, burying his face in the large man's neck. 

Blake was startled. His other hand automatically came around Avon's back. Avon's ragged breaths were hot against the rebel's neck. Blake stroked the tech's back soothingly. He found himself whispering comfortingly, "It will be all right, Avon. We're together now. Don't worry. We'll work everything out. It will be all right."

By the door, Vila sighed in relief, certain, at last, that it would be all right. 

* * *

After the doctor left Blake's room, the news of his improved condition spread rapidly throughout the base. Everyone wanted to visit their recovering leader, but the doctor allowed only a few people at a time. They paraded in, and Blake, despite his weariness, put on a show of strength and confidence.

Avon stayed in his friend's room, sitting out of the way and watching the procession of rebels. He was pleased when Blake had told the doctor in no uncertain terms that Avon and Vila were to have unrestricted access to the room, regardless of the strictures placed on all other visitors. Vila stayed with Avon, sitting close, letting his lover know that he had his support. 

At last, Blake announced that he was tired and would not see any further visitors until the next day. Vila stood, hesitating before wheeling Avon toward the door. 

"Avon, wait."

He turned. Blake met him with a smile. "See you in the morning?"

Avon nodded, returning the smile.

* * *

Vila locked the door to Avon's quarters and eyed the man attentively. "How do you feel?" he asked.

Avon carefully pushed himself from his wheelchair and stood. He took two slow steps, bringing himself close to Vila. "You tell me." He pulled the man into a long passionate kiss that weakened Vila's knees.

Vila pulled back to look at Avon, his eyes clouding over with passion. "Well, you feel pretty good to me."

Their lovemaking that night was slow and sweet. Lying in each other's arms in the warm aftermath, Avon pulled Vila into another long kiss. He whispered, "I haven't told you that I love you, but I do."

"I know. I love you, too, Avon."

"I know." They snuggled close together and drifted into peaceful sleep.

* * *

After his morning physical therapy session, Avon brought the rest of the Scorpio crew to meet the famed Roj Blake. 

". . . Dayna Mellanby, and Soolin. And I believe you have already met Del Tarrant."

"Yes. I owe you something of an apology, Tarrant -- for the test. You know, Avon used to berate me for being too trusting. Time has changed some things. I guess my paranoia had gotten the better of me. If you had been with Avon or Vila when I found you, I would have trusted you without question; but you were alone, and I didn't know what to think."

"Yes, well, I think I can understand that. Shall we chalk it up to a misunderstanding and leave it at that?" He held out his hand.

Taking the offering in his own hand, Blake replied, "You are a generous man. Thank you."

The group talked more light-heartedly for some time about some of the less disastrous events of the past two years. Avon's crew quickly grew to both respect and like Roj Blake. His bright eyes and infectious laugh won them over in no time. He was everything they had been led to expect, and more, and they began to understand Avon a little better. 

Eventually, Vila gave them a signal that Avon and Blake should be left alone. They gracefully exited. Vila lingered a moment. "Avon," he put his hand on the man's shoulder, "I'll be in my quarters if you need me."

Avon smiled at him warmly and nodded. As the door closed behind Vila, Avon turned to face Blake with only a hint of apprehension in his eyes.

Blake tried to ease the situation. "I like your crew. They seem like a good group."

"Yes, they are. They are all rather interested to know whether we have a place here, or whether we will be on our own again. What can I tell them?"

"Well, that's straight to the point. All right, Avon. As far as I am concerned, you have a place here as long as you want it. We do have things to work out, but I do not want to be separated from you again."

"Well, then, as far as I am concerned, we will stay."

"Good. That's one issue settled. Shall we tackle another?" 

They talked at length, and Blake began to understand the strain Avon had lived under for the past two years. Avon spoke more openly with him than he ever had, and Blake realized how much it meant to the other man to settle things between them. He could not be angry with Avon any longer, and, now that the anger was gone, he found that he was truly glad to be with him again. 

There was one thing he was curious about. "You and Vila seem very close. He mentioned to me that you had tried to kill him. . . ?"

"Yes, well, Vila is a rather remarkable man." Avon went on to explain the situation on the shuttle when he had sought the thief with a gun in his hand. "But, for some reason, he still cares about me." He looked hard at Blake. "In fact, he loves me. And I love him. We are. . .together."

Blake's eyes widened, then he smiled. "Well. Things have changed. That is truly the last thing I would have expected you to tell me. How long has this been going on?" 

"Just a few days. Believe me, no one is more surprised than I."

He laughed. "If both of you are happy, then I'm happy for you."

Avon smiled back at him. "Thank you. We are happy. I never really expected to be, you know. Vila. . .surprised me. So, for that matter, have you."

"We can't deny the fact that you and I need each other, Avon. I think we both realized that these past two years. I am glad that we can admit it now. We are stronger as a team than we are individually."

Avon grinned at him. "And so pity the Federation. They know not what they are in for."

The two men laughed, and began making plans.


End file.
